


Hold Me Down

by wesleysgirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Willa. Huge thanks to JustHuman for the valuable advice and to Ginny for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hold Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> For Willa. Huge thanks to JustHuman for the valuable advice and to Ginny for the beta.

  
_So I guess I must have just been dreaming  
When I thought I heard myself say no  
Anyway it looks like no one heard me so here I go_

_Cause when you're in the company of strangers  
Or just the strangers you call friends  
You know before you start just how it's going to end_

_So remember when those doors swing open  
and all the drinks are passed around  
Anytime the pickins look too easy... hold me down_  
\-- Gin Blossoms, "Hold Me Down."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The voice is low and growling, and Xander almost laughs. Okay, then he _does_ laugh, because it's Spike.   
"Having a good time. Ever heard of it before?"

"This isn't a good time, it's a bloody psychotic break." Spike's hand is on his upper arm, but Xander doesn't   
care because he's leaning on the bar again. The bar is good. The bar is his friend because it stops the room from spinning.

"Come on, Xander, aren't you coming back to dance with me?" The sweet dulcet tones of the lovely young woman who's been   
following him around all night. Xander has to admit to himself that he's forgotten her name. Katie? Kaylee? Something like that.

"Yeah. I'm all about the dancing," he says, but when he tries to straighten up, the only thing keeping him upright   
is Spike's hand on his arm, because the world tilts dizzily.

"You're not going anywhere but home to bed so you can sleep this off," Spike tells him.

"Fuck you," Xander says.

"Don't think you're in any condition," Spike says, and starts to haul him toward the front door of the Bronze.   
But he doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay -- that K girl's been rubbing herself against him all night in a   
mockery of the sexy dance he did with Buffy at the beginning of their junior year.

"Fuck _you_ ," Xander says again, with more heat this time. He yanks his arm out of Spike's grip and sways, but   
manages to stay upright.

"C'mon Harris, you're being ridiculous. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Xander's aware that there are people standing all around them, and that some of them might find a loud argument   
pretty interesting to watch, but he doesn't have the energy to stop the words that spill from him. "I'm having a _life,_ "   
he says. "Not that you'd know anything about that, would you."

"Fine," Spike says, a look of what's probably disgust crossing his face. "If this is what you call a life -- spending every   
night piss drunk, taking what-all drugs complete strangers hand to you -- then you're welcome to it."

"Why the fuck did you come down here anyway?"

"Buffy asked me to." Spike looks at him. "Willow's worried. Dawn too."

"So they only cared enough to stage a little intervention if they didn't have to actually come and see me, is that   
it?" Xander's angry, but he's also horrified. He just keeps running to this, but never gets any farther away from what   
he's running _from._

Spike steps closer. "Come on," he says gently. "Lemme drive you home."

And the kindness is what breaks Xander, lets him accept this tiny handout in the face of his despair. "Yeah," he says,   
after a minute. "Okay, sure."

"Got keys?" Spike asks, once they're outside and the cooler night air is doing something to clear Xander's head,   
although not much.

"Yeah." He digs in his pocket, hauls them out, hands them over and jerks his thumb in the direction of his car.

"Nice work, that," Spike says, of the long scratch on the driver's side door. "Piss someone off?"

"Yeah. Myself." Xander remembers the incident only vaguely -- it was a couple of nights ago, and he didn't pull   
out far enough away from the car next to him. At the time it didn't even occur to him that he was lucky not to have   
hit an actual person. It only barely occurs to him now.

Spike pulls out of the parking space _without_ adding another scratch to Xander's car. "What are you on?" he asks.

Xander shrugs. "Beer."

"What else?"

The answer is longer in coming this time. "Ecstasy."

That earns him a quick glance. "You sure?"

He shrugs again. "Well I didn't have it chemically tested, if that's what you mean."

Xander spends the rest of the ride with his eyes closed, leaning his head against the window, trying   
to calm his roiling stomach with sheer will-power. It's worked in the past, though not always as well as he'd   
have liked, nor as reliably.

The car stops and Spike gets out, then leans back in and asks, "You coming?"

Xander's got a dirty mind, so that makes him chuckle. That one little motion is the straw that breaks the camel's   
back, or something about camels anyway, and then Xander is out on his hands and knees on the pavement puking his guts out.

He isn't aware of anything around him -- not the car next to him, not the gravel under his palms, not the darkness. It's all   
about his body trying to turn itself inside out, and the burning in his sinuses, and the feeling that this is going on forever.   
It shouldn't last this long, should it?

Eventually, about a hundred years later, it stops, and Xander realizes that there's a hand on his back. It's not warm,   
but the weight of it is comforting somehow.

"You done?" Spike asks.

That sets him off again -- one last round of dry heaves for the road. Literally. The thought makes him laugh again,   
and apparently he was wrong about that being the last round, because there's one more round after that.

He clears his throat and spits, wincing at the acid aftertaste and trying not to look at the sickening puddle of vomit   
in front of him. "I'm done," he manages.

Without another word, Spike lifts him onto his feet, one arm around Xander's waist, and helps him up to his apartment.   
The darkness inside is soothing, and it makes the throbbing pain in Xander's temples ease up a little bit.

"Should drink some water," Spike says, and deposits Xander on the couch without preamble before going and   
getting a glass from the kitchen.

Xander presses the cool glass to his forehead and closes his eyes.   
"Thanks," he says. It's muttered, but he knows Spike will hear it, because he's got that whole vampire-hearing thing going for him.

Spike sits down in the padded chair, a slouch that looks like melting muscles. That thought reminds Xander of the   
scene at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' when the bad guys open the ark and get spirit-whammied. "Welcome," Spike   
says shortly. "So what the hell's been going on?"

Xander blinks. Takes a sip of his water. Tries not to think about how many beers he had, how many shots of various fiery   
liquors. "I'm just having a good time," he says.

"That what you call getting drunk and high and then puking your guts out? Having a good time?"

"Well, this was a particularly fun night," Xander says, slumping down further on the couch as his head spins. He   
thinks he should be pointing Spike toward the door, but he's not even sure where it is. "On a regular night I'm not lucky   
enough to have the added joy of vomiting."

"Why?" Spike's voice isn't loud, but Xander can tell he expects an answer.

Too bad he's not sure if he has one. "I don't know," he says finally, but somewhere a little voice is whispering   
_Because no one's stopping me._

Xander remembers the night it started vividly, which is weird because over the past few weeks he figures he's killed   
enough brain cells to destroy most of his short-term memory. "I went out to have a couple of drinks -- it seemed better   
than staying home and drinking alone, you know? I met a few people. They had some stuff, asked me if I wanted to try   
it." He shrugs. "Didn't seem like there was any reason not to."

"Heroin?" Spike sounds casual, like he doesn't care if the answer is yes.

"Nah." Though to be honest Xander has thought he'd give it a try if someone offered. "Acid. Pot, ecstasy, little bit of coke."

"You just taking whatever people are handing out?"

"They're my friends," Xander lies. He doesn't even know most of their names, but... well, they're different.   
Hanging out with them doesn't bring Anya to mind instantly.

"Uh-huh." Spike nods. "So. Tomorrow night more of the same, is that right?"

"Probably." Xander knows he sounds sullen.

"Right." Spike stands up and heads for the door. "Try not to kill yourself in the meantime."

The door closes with a sharp smack, and Xander wearily drags himself to his feet. He needs a shower, and some   
sleep. He has to be at work in less than five hours.

* * *

Six-thirty the next night. Xander gets home from work, showers and changes, and eats a couple of hot dogs cut   
up into some Kraft macaroni and cheese -- it's the cheesiest.

He checks his wallet for cash, notes that he'll have to swing by an ATM machine, and opens the door.

Spike is standing there in the hallway. "Lose something?" Spike asks.

"Um... no."

"Yeah you did. Lost your common sense." Spike takes a step forward into the doorway, blocking Xander's exit.

"Look, Fangless, I didn't ask for the character analysis." Xander makes a little gesture with his hand, hoping Spike   
will move out of his way.

Instead, Spike steps in closer again, his chest inches from Xander's. "You're not going out."

"Oh yes, I am."

"No, you're not." Spike sounds infinitely patient, like he could stand there all night.

"And just how do you think you're going to stop me? You can't lay a hand on me. Well okay, not like that. And... look,   
we're not having this conversation, because I'm going." Somehow, Xander can't bring himself to shove Spike out of the   
way, easy though it would be.

"You want to get drunk? Fine." Spike takes another step forward, and Xander steps back to avoid him. "But don't   
keep doing it at the Bronze with a bunch of strangers. Your friends -- your _real_ friends -- give a shit about what   
happens to you. God knows why."

Xander doesn't know what to say to that. It's not like he doesn't know that Buffy and Willow and Dawn are worried   
about him. It's just... part of him doesn't care. Forgetting is better. "What do you care?" he asks Spike, pretty sure he   
knows what the answer will be.

Right on cue, Spike says, "Don't." The vampire sighs. "Not about you, at any rate."

"Then get the fuck out of my way." It's almost a growl, but it's forced because Xander's tired, and he knows he's just running away.

"Make me."

And Xander wants to -- oh, he wants to. But somehow, on the other hand, spending the evening crashed out on the   
sofa with a beer. The thought of going out and all that dancing and the pounding music makes his head throb and his   
stomach lurch, and that decides him. "Forget it," he mutters, and turns away from Spike.

Who comes in and closes the door behind him.

"Did you hear an invitation?" Xander asks, shucking off his coat and kicking it up against the wall as he heads for the kitchen.

"Promised Dawn I'd keep an eye on you tonight," Spike says.

"Look, I'm not going out, okay? You win. So unless you think I'm going to get into some kind of mischief here in my   
apartment, I'd say you're off the hook."

Spike stands there and watches him. "Promised," he says. He doesn't sound annoyed. "You've lost weight," he announces   
after a minute.

Xander ignores him. It's not like he hasn't noticed that he's had to tighten his belt. He throws a flat popcorn   
packet into the microwave and hits a couple of buttons, then grabs a beer from the fridge and leans against the   
counter, refusing to look at the vampire.

When the microwave beeps, Xander retrieves the newly-formed -- or should that be newly-reformed -- bag from it   
and, wincing as the heat burns his fingertips, retreats to the couch. He puts his feet up on the table, not caring that   
his shoes are still on.

He is _not_ waiting to see what Spike will do. Spike is the last thing on his mind. Because the first thing on his mind   
is how long it will take for Spike to get bored and go so that he can leave too, but he's trying not to think about that either.

Besides, popcorn good. Beer good. TV... okay, somewhat less than good, but maybe that's the point. He flicks around   
from channel to channel until he finds something really boring -- something about the mating habits of insects --   
and then settles in for what he hopes isn't going to be too long a haul.

To Xander's annoyance, Spike heads for the fridge and takes out a beer.

"That's mine, you know."

"Really? Thought maybe you were taking care of it for the President." Spike twists the cap off and takes a swig.

"Would you just get out of my house?"

"No."

Xander sighs. The room is warm, and he's been cold for what seems like months. He cradles the bag of popcorn closer,   
letting the heat from it soak into him. God, he's tired. His eyelids feel heavy, and the sound of the tv is fading into the   
background, becoming kind of weird and meaningless. He realizes his eyes are closed, and then he's asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, Xander's curled on his side on the couch, and Spike's sitting in the chair next to him. The beer he'd   
been holding before is on the table, still mostly full, and over at the other end are some empties. Probably all the beer   
he has left in the house. _Had_ left in the house.

Strangely, he doesn't care that much. He pushes himself up to sitting, and Spike, who's been staring at the television,   
glances over at him. "Had a nice nap?"

"What time is it?" Xander asks, his voice painfully hoarse.

"Almost midnight." Spike's casual, relaxed. Making himself right at home, not that that should be a surprise.

He groans. "That late?"

"Sorry I had to ruin your plans for the evening with all this sensible behavior." Spike doesn't sound sorry. Stupid vampire.

"So is this what you're going to do from now on? Come hang out over here every night to make sure I don't go out?" He sits up   
and drinks about half his beer in one long pull. The careless warmth of it spreading through him is just what he needs --   
liquid courage and enough energy to use it. Standing up, Xander says, "Well fuck you, Spike. I can do whatever the hell I   
want, and I don't need your permission or anybody else's."

He strides toward the door -- good thing he's still wearing his shoes -- but just before he can get there, he feels strong   
hands grab onto the back of his shirt and turn him, so quick that he feels dizzy, and then he gets slammed up against the   
wall. Pain and noise shoot through his head, and he blinks at Spike, stunned.

"Oh no you bloody don't," Spike growls, hands on the front of his shirt now, alternately pushing him back against the   
wall and pulling him forward. Or wait, maybe that's him doing that, what with the struggling and all. "I am _not_   
going to watch you do this to yourself. You think I'm going to go back to those girls and tell them they've lost someone   
else they care about?"

Xander blinks, and after a second he stops fighting and just stands there, letting the wall and Spike hold him up. "I'm not   
doing that," he says, trying to explain. "Getting lost."

"Gonna kill yourself, you keep going on like you have been." Spike looks mad, but he doesn't really sound it. "She   
worth all this, then?"

"Who, Anya?" Xander knows that's who Spike's talking about, but he still has to ask it.

"No, Mother Teresa. Yes, of course the stupid demon bint."

For some reason, hearing Spike call her that makes Xander mad. "She's not stupid. It's not her fault." Not that he hadn't   
wanted to blame her, but when it came right down to it, it was him. He was the one who was too terrified to walk down the aisle.

"Didn't say it was. But she should have known better, shouldn't she? Because you're not like that."

All the fight's gone out of Xander now. "Not like what?"

"Not the marrying type. Least, not the way things are." Spike's hands are more gentle now, still attached to his shirt front.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Xander asks, right before Spike leans in and kisses him.

It's hard and doesn't leave room for refusal, which of course he'd totally do if he had the option. Spike's lips are firm and   
smooth, and the first thought that zings through Xander is how those lips would feel wrapped around his cock, what with   
how good they are to kiss, compared to girl lips.

But no, no, he's not -- this isn't him, and he doesn't want this. He manages to get his hands up between them and shove   
Spike away, and Spike lets him. Doesn't let go of him, though. Just stands there in his stupid bleached blonde vampire   
way, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Since when do you kiss guys?" is what Xander asks, instead of any of the other hundred things that want to babble   
their way out of his mouth.

Spike smirks. "Trying to prove a point, mate."

"Don't." Xander knocks Spike's hands away and stumbles back toward the living room and the couch. He needs the   
couch. The couch is good. "You don't... you don't kiss someone and then call him 'mate.'"

"What should I be calling you then? Pet?" Spike strolls after him, but thankfully doesn't sit down on the couch. Not   
that he could without sitting practically on top of Xander, who is sprawled in the middle of it, trying to remember how to   
breathe.

Trying to ignore the strong physical reaction that Spike kissing him caused.

"Would you just... shut up for a minute." Xander presses the heels of both hands over his eyes, hard. Maybe if he does it   
hard enough he can forget what just happened.

"Can smell it, you know," Spike says.

"What part of 'shut up' do you not understand?"

But of course Spike never listens. He just keeps talking. "Can see how hard you are." Yeah, that's tight jeans for you.   
"Nothing to be ashamed of. Not like you're the first bloke to want me."

"The only thing I want you for is... okay, nothing. There's nothing I want you for. I want you to shut up and, while you're   
at it, how about leaving?" Xander shifts his position on the couch, hoping it might help hide his erection.

"Promised Dawn I'd make sure you spent a night at home."

Xander covers his face with both hands. He might even whimper a little bit. "Why couldn't you have just, I don't   
know, drugged me or something? Slipped a sleeping pill into my drink?"

"Seems to me you've been putting enough of that stuff into your body," Spike says pointedly. Xander feels the   
vampire settle into the small space on his right, and immediately yelps and shifts his way to the other side of the   
couch, so there's space between them.

"I don't want you," he says, trying to sound serious at the same time his stupid cock throbs painfully, calling him a liar.

"You like men, though." Spike reaches out a finger and runs it down Xander's arm, and even though he cringes   
away, he doesn't get up off the couch. "You just don't want to admit it to yourself."

"Hello? How long have you been hanging around Sunnydale? How many women have I been with?"

Spike leans back into the couch, which is a relief because at least it means he's not touching Xander. "Think there's some   
saying about people protesting too much. Besides, weren't you a virgin until Anya came along?"

"No!" Xander swallows. "There was this thing with Faith..." On second thought, maybe that's not the kind of thing he wants   
to be discussing, especially not with Spike.

"Maybe other people can read you better than you think," Spike says. He sits forward again, then leans toward Xander.   
"Maybe you're an open book."

The idea that everyone else might know what he's been denying to himself all this time -- and okay, is _so_ not   
admitting now -- freaks Xander out more than the kiss had. He jumps up off the couch and paces around to the other   
side of the table. God, he needs a drink. Needs a dozen drinks, and bright flashing lights and pounding music to drive   
all of this out of his brain and back to wherever it belongs.

"We could give it a shot," Spike offers, sitting back again, his legs spread wide like he's waiting for someone to fuck   
him, and oh god, Xander did _not_ just think that.

"What are you talking about?" Is it just him, or is there some kind of echo in here?

"Fool around a little bit, see what you think. If you don't like it, you've got your answer right there -- straight as an   
arrow. But if you do..."

"What?!" Xander rubs a hand across his face. He's not hearing this. Nope, this is some kind of illusion, or hallucination,   
or something. "Please tell me you didn't just offer to have sex with me."

''Course I didn't." Spike actually manages to sound offended. "Offered to mess around, that's all. Didn't say anything   
about having sex."

Xander whimpers. He wants to hide his face in his hands again, but then he won't be able to keep an eye on Spike,   
and who knows what might happen then. "Is there a camera here somewhere? I mean, taping me, like some kind of sick joke?"

Spike gets up again and comes over to him, and Xander looks at him helplessly. He can't even move away. "No joke," Spike   
says, and there's something in his voice like velvet and satin, sexy without any help from his incredibly blue eyes and his   
perfect abs and... god.

This time when Spike kisses him, it's softer. There's one hand on Xander's upper arm, not forcing him, just... holding on.   
Reassuring, kind of, and it helps distract him from the way Spike's mouth feels on his, from the way Spike's tongue licks at   
his upper lip, not trying to get inside, just tasting him. Fuck, that's hot.

No, this is... this has to stop, it's wrong and gross and... even hotter, when Spike's hand comes up to cradle the side of   
Xander's face, and then the other one joins it. He's still not stopping Xander from leaving, it's just... nice. And the   
kissing is nice too, slow and cool, wet mouths sliding.

Xander's hard. He'd like to be able to say that there'd been a time in between the first kiss and these that he wasn't,   
but it would be a lie if he did. He's been hard since Spike kissed him up against the wall, and he's harder now, with Spike's   
hands on his face.

"So, what do you think?" Spike asks, pulling back, and Xander has to force his eyes open to look at him. "Arrow material?"

He can barely figure out what the vampire is talking about -- vampire! he's been kissing a vampire! -- but he's pretty   
sure he doesn't want to stop kissing, so he shakes his head, hoping that's the right answer.

Spike smiles, and he does too, right back at him, like a mirror. He barely has time to register the fact that it's the only   
kind of self-reflection that Spike's seen in a long time before they're kissing again. And somehow their bodies are   
pressed together, and holy god it feels good. Way better than it ought to. Good enough that Xander forgets that this   
is a vampire he's kissing, let alone one who's driven him reliably up the wall for a number of years now. All he cares   
about is how it feels.

In fact, he's starting to wish for that wall, because it would be nice to have something to lean against. Spike might   
be able to read his mind, because suddenly Xander finds himself being walked backward, and he keeps waiting for   
a wall to bump into his ass, or his head if he's really unlucky, but he doesn't want to open his eyes to see where they're going.

The thing that does hit him -- in the back of the knees -- is his mattress, and his eyes fly open at that, his mouth leaving   
Spike's so that it can protest this turn of events loudly. Because kissing is one thing, but bed is a completely other. Thing.

"No," he says. "Look, maybe this is..."

Again he gets cut off, but this time it's because Spike undoes the front of his too-tight jeans and eases his hand inside,   
grabbing onto Xander's cock through his boxers, and he gasps.

"Won't do anything you don't want," Spike says in a low voice, his fingers squeezing. "Besides... if you don't try it, how   
are you gonna know whether or not it's for you?"

"I already know it's not for me. I'm not... I'm not gay," Xander says, but it's harder than he thought it would be. Saying   
the words, that is. Well, his dick, too.

Spike shoves back the jeans and gets his hand inside Xander's boxers, strong cool fingers gripping him and giving an   
easy casual tug like he's had more experience with other men's cocks than Xander's had with his own. "Let's find out for   
sure, shall we?"

"Me liking someone else's hand on my cock doesn't make me gay, it makes me horny," Xander manages to point   
out. "It doesn't matter if it's a guy's hand or a girl's."

"You may have something there," Spike admits, and to his surprise Xander feels the brief falling sensation of   
disappointment, so familiar. "What if it was the other way 'round?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if you liked having your hand on another guy's cock? Would that prove anything?"

Xander fights desperately not to thrust into Spike's grip. "I guess. But..."

"No buts," Spike says, letting go of Xander and moving his hands to his own jeans, starting to unfasten them. "Give it a   
try, see what you think."

And it's like Xander's caught in some weird kind of listen-to-what-Spike-says spell, because when Spike takes out   
his cock, he reaches out automatically to touch it. It's already hard -- which is a good thing, because even when he's   
not sure he wants to be doing this, he knows it would be mortifying if he couldn't make Spike get hard.

Spike's cock feels -- good. The skin's softer than his own, kind of silky, or maybe velvety. And underneath he's hard,   
really hard, and when Xander's fingers close around and squeeze, it gets even harder. A little drop of pre-come   
appears at the tip, glistening, and Xander squeezes again instinctively.

"Yeah," Spike breathes, but he doesn't have to breathe, does he?

Something in Xander's stomach does a funny little flip-flop, and he tells himself it's disgust. But deeper, he knows it's   
not, because his hand's already moving on Spike's cock, stroking, from the base to the slightly flared head. It registers   
briefly that all this skin being pulled along by his hand is Spike's foreskin, and then his mind goes blank because that's   
the only way he can deal with this.

There's a hand on his own dick again, and he knows it's not his. His own hand never feels this good. "Wow," Xander says faintly.

"That a revelation I hear?" Spike asks, and even though it's sort of sarcastic, it sounds more like gentle teasing.

It doesn't matter either way, because Xander's too hard and desperate to care. He's pushing his dick into Spike's grasp,   
trembling and oh so close to coming, just from Spike's touch and the feel of Spike's cock in his own hand.

"Wanna fuck me?" Spike asks, low and seductive, and Xander comes, totally silent, pleasure spurting out of him in long   
waves that leave him shaking with an arm around Spike's waist for support.

"Shit," Xander gasps, then says it again. "Shit."

"Thought that might do it," Spike says, smirking. Then, to Xander's complete surprise, the vampire drops down onto   
his knees and licks Xander's cock.

"Gah! What are you...?" Okay, now Spike's sucking on him, and that feels good too. It's nice to be young and hung --   
Xander knows he'll be able to come again in fifteen minutes, what with all of his and Anya's former marathon sex sessions   
as proof. "Jesus, Spike."

"Don't get too excited," Spike says, backing off to glance up at him. "Your turn next."

That thought sends a surge of renewed blood to his dick, and Spike takes the head into his mouth and sucks hard. He   
keeps doing it too, until Xander's erect again. Then Spike stops, yanks his shirt off over his head, pushes his jeans   
down onto the floor, and crawls onto the bed.

"Come on."

Xander's flushed and embarrassed and horny, but none of those things prevent him from moving eagerly to join Spike. He   
kicks off his shoes first, takes off his shirt, then crawls up over Spike, kisses him. Tries not to think about how good this all feels.

He still has his jeans on, even if they're opened, but Spike's hands are pushing at them, moving them down over his ass   
so that when Xander grinds down against him their cocks rub together.

Spike's gasp gives him that funny feeling again, deep in his gut, and Xander is struck by the knowledge that he could   
spend the next several years happily rubbing his dick against Spike's, coming in his hand, in his mouth, in his... oh Jesus.

"You want to fuck me?" Spike asks again, although this time it's with the fingers of both hands threaded into Xander's   
too-long hair. They kiss again, a sloppy clash of teeth and tongues.

And Xander doesn't remember anymore why they're doing this. He has a vague idea that it has something to do with   
proving something to someone, but that's as far as it goes. All he wants now is to push his cock into Spike, hard and full of friction.

Luckily, there's lube. It's under the pillow, actually, jammed under there a couple of nights ago after a mildly satisfying   
session of jerking himself off while high.

"Don't need that," Spike says, seeing what he's got in his hand.

Horny though he is, Xander doesn't much care for the thought of a dry fuck, and he doesn't think his cock would like it   
much either. But before he can ask the question, Spike says, "S'what saliva's for. Well, one of the things."

Spike's hands shove Xander's head down toward the vampire's cock, and Xander only recoils internally. Outwardly, he   
slides down Spike's body, letting the slick head of Spike's dick paint a slippery line up his chest. He knows he's supposed   
to go lower still, but he finds himself stopped with the pale erection in front of his face.

It only seems natural to lick it, and when Spike sighs and curls gentle fingers into his hair again, to do it some more. So he does.

There's pre-come leaking from the tip, but it's not gross or anything like Xander thought it might be. It tastes kind of   
good -- a little bit metallic, salty. He licks all around the head, listening to the sounds Spike makes and knowing that   
they're the same kind of noises he makes when someone sucks him off. These might as well be his sounds.

Xander brings his hand up and plays with Spike's balls, tugging on them, rolling them between his fingers. He wonders   
what would happen if he sucked hard on the head of Spike's cock, then does it and grins when the answer is Spike arches   
up off the bed with a strangled gasp.

"Oh yeah," Spike says when Xander eases off. "You're not gay, not a bit."

"Shut up," Xander says automatically. His own cock hurts he's so hard, rubbing against the mattress. He has to be careful   
about it because his jeans are still around his hips -- wouldn't want to get caught by the edge of the zipper.

He remembers that he's supposed to be doing something about the lack of lube and moves lower, mouthing each of   
Spike's balls in turn. Spike writhes and just about whimpers, and it occurs to Xander that maybe if he pays enough   
attention to Spike's cock, maybe the vampire won't notice if he uses lube from the bottle still clutched in his hand   
instead of his own spit.

Trying to be subtle, he flicks the top of the bottle up and drizzles some just behind Spike's balls. Half of it ends up on the sheet,   
but at this point that seems like a small price to pay. Then Xander rubs the tip of his finger over the tight little hole that he   
desperately, desperately wants to stick his cock into.

Holy hand grenades. He's _so_ gay.

But no, Xander tells himself he's not thinking, he's doing. He's a man of action, and currently the action is getting Spike's ass   
wet and ready.

It doesn't take long, not with the way Spike is spreading his thighs further apart and occasionally swearing when Xander's   
finger pushes in deep. Spike yanks on his hair, and Xander yelps and shifts upward again as the bottle of lube falls off the   
bed and onto the floor.

"Get rid of these," Spike growls, shoving ineffectually at Xander's jeans.

He has to scramble to his feet next to the bed to get them off, and as soon as he finishes kicking them to one side,   
Spike's mouth is on him again. "Jesus," he says. "Spike, don't... not if you want me to..."

Instead of letting Xander back onto the bed, Spike turns, wrapping his legs around Xander's now-naked waist and   
arching his body invitingly. Xander barely has to move -- just takes half a step forward and slides into Spike in one   
long incredible push.

It doesn't feel anything like the fucking he's known. It's tighter and smoother and stronger, squeezes his cock so hard   
that for a second Xander thinks he might pass out. His hands are on Spike's waist, holding on. Holding on. He could come   
in about three seconds, but he doesn't want to, not yet.

Spike does something with his spine -- an undulation that starts at his shoulders and ends with his ass pushing   
against Xander, shoving him deeper -- and makes a choked sound. "You planning on moving some time this century?" he asks.

"Bite me," Xander says, and pulls Spike toward him, forcing himself even further into that amazing tightness before rocking   
back and then forward again. And look at that, he's fucking Spike, and if he'd ever imagined doing something like this --   
which he _so_ hasn't -- it wouldn't have been nearly this good. Not even close.

It seems like Spike's pretty into it too, the way he's groaning. He's got one arm up over his head, his hand gripping a   
fistful of cheap cotton blanket as he takes it, as Xander fucks him. The muscles in his arms look hard and precisely defined.

"You like this?" Xander asks.

"Wouldn't have suggested it if," Spike gasps and arches his back at the next thrust, then continues, "If I didn't think I'd like it."

Spike's nipples are pale pink, little beads of flesh that Xander has to reach out and touch. They're taut with arousal, but   
not really any warmer than the rest of Spike, and when he pinches one Spike hisses.

"Come on, Harris," Spike says. "Really give it to me."

Xander does, thrusting harder and faster. He changes the angle a little bit, can feel the head of his dick sliding up   
inside Spike's ass and knows that the vampire likes it, what with the way Spike's cock throbs when it happens. There's   
a little bit of pre-come on Spike's flat stomach, and Xander needs to touch that too. When it's on his fingertips he   
rubs them across the head of Spike's cock, grinning when Spike swears and digs a heel into his ass.

"Bloody hell. Do it again."

"You sure?" Xander asks, but he's just teasing. His hand grabs onto Spike's cock like it's the most natural thing in   
the world, starts squeezing the head in time with his thrusts. He's starting to lose the rhythm now, it's too good, and...

The next thing Xander knows, he's flat on his back on the floor with the wind knocked out of him and Spike straddling him,   
thighs over thighs. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he manages to ask.

"That's exactly what I think I'm doing," Spike says, holding up the bottle of lube that he obviously didn't have any trouble finding.

"Oh, no," Xander says, struggling. "No way."

But Spike's got that vampire strength thing working for him, and he pins Xander down like it's easy. "Shut up," he says.   
"Not gonna rape you. Just hear me out."

It's not like there's anything else Xander can do but lie there, so he listens.

"Remember what you were saying before? About how liking a guy's hand on your cock didn't make you gay? Well, this is the   
same thing. You think just because it feels good to fuck someone it means you're straight?"

Xander blinks. His dick is still hard, even if the urge to come has faded, but he sees what Spike's saying. "You want to prove   
to me that I'm gay by fucking me?"

Spike leans down and kisses him, and he remembers all the good parts of this. "Want to prove it by showing you you   
like it," he says, running a slick hand over Xander's balls.

He bucks a little bit, but he's not sure if it's because he wants Spike to stop or because it feels good. Not like he hasn't   
experienced ass play before, just... it was always with Anya, and never anything bigger than a finger. He's not sure he   
wants to find out what it's like to have a cock up there.

Could be his dick has other ideas though, because he can feel it getting harder again, even as Spike moves back and eases   
a finger into him. "See?" Spike says, and the fact that he's trying to be reassuring freaks Xander out more than what he's   
doing. "Besides, you saw me gettin' off on it."

"You like _pain_ ," Xander points out, but then he has to close his eyes when Spike's finger rubs over something   
swollen inside and this amazing feeling of pressure starts to build.

"Doesn't hurt when you do it right," Spike says, rubbing again before sliding his finger mostly out and drizzling more   
lube over it. He's doing something weird, stretching Xander, and it feels bizarre and disturbing and yet somehow   
good at the same time.

He groans when Spike pushes two fingers back into him, but it's not in pain. His dick is aching with need. "Uhn," he says. "Spike..."

Spike moves between Xander's thighs, spreading them with hands that are totally slick with lube now, and Xander   
feels the cool wet head of Spike's cock probing. He sucks in a deep breath as it pushes, slippery and huge, easing   
him open slowly. Spike's relentless -- he pauses for a second or two to give Xander time to relax, but he doesn't   
stop until he's all the way in, deep.

"Hang on," Spike says, like he thinks Xander's going to tell him it's too much. "Give it a minute." He pulls out a little bit   
and pushes back in, and it's unbelievably too big. It feels like it's taking up all the air in the room, like Xander can't   
breathe, and he's not sure he has a minute.

Then Spike does it again, only he pulls out further this time, and when he slides back in he rubs over that swollen   
spot again, and _then_ Xander can breathe.

Spike grins at the look on his face. "That's it," he says. "You're gonna love this." And he starts moving, not too fast,   
but steady, the head of his cock rubbing Xander and making that pressure build and oh shit, he's going to come   
really soon if this is what being fucked feels like.

Xander needs to put his hands somewhere, but he knows if he touches his dick it's going to be over in a second, and he   
really, really wants to, but part of him doesn't want to, and... He's on the floor, and there's nothing to grab onto except Spike.

That's when Spike leans down to kiss him, and he feels Spike's hands on his, pushing them over his head. Their fingers are   
interlaced. Kind of sticky with lube, and the thin carpet underneath Xander's hands rubs the back of them with each rocking thrust.

He knows what it feels like to be where Spike is, and to his surprise he doesn't care that he's on the bottom of this equation.   
All he cares about is Spike's open mouth against his, and the way Spike's pelvic bones are pushing into his so hard that   
he's probably going to have bruises in the morning, and the fact that he is gay, gay, oh so gay.

Xander groans and spreads his legs further apart, planting his feet on the floor and grinding his cock against Spike's abs at the   
end of each thrust. Spike's hands are still holding his down, and he can feel how the roughness of the carpet is rubbing his   
knuckles raw. It doesn't matter that this is an experiment. Spike's tongue is in his mouth, forceful, and Xander whimpers   
as the next, harder thrust threatens to make him come and give him rug burn on his ass at the same time.

"Like it a little bit rough, don't you?" Spike says, slamming into him again.

"God..." Xander's poised on the edge of orgasm, but he can't tip over the edge. He moans and writhes against Spike --   
against his cock, against his restraining hands.

Spike seems to be into the whole sex-talk thing. "Bet you've thought about this -- how it'd feel to have someone   
fuck you. Bet you never dreamed it would feel this good."

He's shuddering, and his hands are trapped under Spike's, and he's pretty sure his knuckles are leaving bloodstains on   
the carpet. "Spike... Jesus..."

And Spike slams into him one more time and then freezes. Xander can feel the cock in his ass throbbing as Spike   
comes, then Spike lets go of one of his hands and reaches down and grabs Xander's dick. Four or five quick pulls   
and it's all over -- Xander shouts, coming with a force and deep release like never before, everything in the world   
reduced to a narrow shaky margin.

When it's over and he can breathe and blink again, Xander looks up at Spike, waiting to feel... something. Shame, or   
disgust, or embarrassment, or hatred. Instead, all he feels is that limp-muscled kind of sated that follows a really   
good orgasm, and maybe a dim kind of gratitude. That doesn't mean he's not waiting warily for the other shoe to drop though.

Spike pulls out, making Xander wince, and rocks back onto his heels, then falls onto his own ass on the floor with his back   
up against the bed. "So what do you think?" he asks, with his hands dangling loosely at the wrists. He's utterly   
unselfconscious and kind of irritatingly smug.

"I think," Xander says, sitting up and turning a little bit so he doesn't feel like he's on display, "that I could really use a   
shower." He's sticky and sweaty and feels kind of gross.

"Still feeling secure in your heterosexuality then?" Spike hauls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed instead.

Xander gets up, wishing for a towel or something to cover his nakedness, and shakes his head a little bit. "No."

"No?" He thinks Spike might be smirking. Not that that should be a surprise.

"I think it's safe to say that heterosexuality is a thing of the past," Xander tells him, looking at Spike. He feels like he should   
make some gesture -- thank him, or whatever. It's not like one good fuck by an admittedly talented vampire turned   
him gay though -- more like Spike pried his eyes open and showed him something he'd been trying not to see.

Spike nods. "So what you going to do next?"

And that, at least, is a question Xander thinks he can answer pretty simply. He takes a deep breath and jerks his   
head toward the bathroom in invitation. "Shower?"

 

 

End

 

 

  



End file.
